


Seasons Fade

by elisetales



Series: A Winter Amid the Ice [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Beauxbatons, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-14
Updated: 2011-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 20:05:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1615424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisetales/pseuds/elisetales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Albus is finding it difficult to let go of his past enough to forge new friendships at Beauxbatons. Until one girl with a talent for doodling sprites with impressive manhoods manages to change his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seasons Fade

**Author's Note:**

> So recently AO3 were kind enough to return to me ownership of this series. To celebrate, I wrote a little Albus POV of the intervening period between AWATI and SFBL. I'd always wanted to write a little one-shot like I did for Scorpius with _Winter Song_ , and so I managed to scrape this one together tonight as I contemplated just how I'm going to finish with this series. 
> 
> A quick note, so I'm not asked again: Beaxbatons, if you abide by book canon, is a school for both boys and girls. It was the films which propagated the idea of a girls-only Beauxbatons.

"You look like him, you know. Really, it's uncanny."

Albus fumbled and dropped his quill. It fell to the floor with a clatter that failed to interrupt any of the several conversations taking place around the as-yet professor-less classroom. With a deep breath, he bent to retrieve it and turned to face the desk behind him. The girl who'd spoken flashed him a wide grin, her chin in her palm as she chewed impishly on her quill. There was a wicked glint in her eyes, and Albus made the rather hasty judgment she was probably one of those girls who liked to test their homemade potions on unsuspecting boys just to see what would happen.

Privately, he thought she ought to be careful with that quill she was chewing lest it explode and choke her with its ink, although at the moment he felt rather unmoved to point this out to her.

With a bored sigh, he returned, "Oh yeah, and who would that be, then?"

"Why, your father of course."

"Really?" Albus deadpanned. "Because I never get that."

The girl let out a slightly manic laugh that unnerved Albus. "You're funny. Really, though, there's no need to be offended. Your father's such a handsome man—those eyes of his! You know, I had a poster of him on my wall until I was ten and let me tell you I—"

"Yeah OK, I'm turning around now." Cheeks aflame, Albus spun around to face the front again, the girl's high, mocking laughter ringing in his ears for the rest of the lesson.

Unfortunately, as it turned out, his torment was not over yet.

The horrid girl followed Albus to his next class, and the one after that, and the one after that, plonking herself uninvited into the empty seats beside him and filling his ear with her unwelcome and bizarre comments about their fellow students, teachers, and whatever else happened to take her fancy. She encroached on his personal space, the scent of lavender hanging around her like a cloud, and doodled on the corners of his parchments (love hearts with vicious little faces, and winged sprites and fairies with disturbingly large endowments) and seemed to delight in Albus' increasing frustration.

By the end of the third lesson, Albus had had enough and snapped at her to stay away from him in no uncertain terms, even calling her a rather unpleasant French name to ensure his feelings had been made clear. Far from being affronted, she only laughed in his face.

"Your French is really awful," she told him in English, shaking her head and snickering at him as if she felt sorry for him. "I could teach you a thing or two about cursing properly, you know. But why on Earth would your parents even send you here when you can't speak the language competently enough to insult me? Were you a naughty boy, Albus? I bet you were. Such a temper you have."

Albus knew the girl meant little more than to wind him up, the way other, _normal_ children pranked and played and joked with each other. But her teasing accusation hit him in the chest like the tip of a poisoned barb and the blood drained from his face all at once. He stuttered something unintelligible and, rather than stand there gaping like an idiot, spun on his heel and scurried away from her.

* * *

Albus had been at Beauxbatons only three days when he'd decided on a favorite hiding spot. If one was brave enough to climb to the northernmost tower of the chateau, where the bricks had crumbled away and the broken, ancient stones underfoot offered an unprotected, perilous view of the ground below, one might find a spot perfect for hiding away for as long as one might wish. Albus sat there now, four months later, tucked into a little corner where the ground felt more stable and contemplated the events of the day. He'd been stupid to react the way he had; the girl was harmless, if annoying, and it had been wrong of him to let her teasing provoke him into such an embarrassing overreaction.

His peers already thought him strange; he made them uneasy, Albus knew that. After the initial novelty of being _Harry Potter's son_ wore thin, people avoided him as they always had, as if his entire being was drenched in a foul, invisible repellent that turned them away from him. And perhaps if he'd responded to the girl's teasing in a less bizarre manner, he reasoned, she could have been a friend to him. But that was likely asking too much. Albus wasn't sure how he could be a friend to anyone when he felt so utterly defective that everyone around him could sense it too.

He pulled his blue cloak tight around his shoulders and shivered against the bracing wind. He laced numb fingers together and considered writing to his parents; and then, more desperately, his brother, as if that would help stave off the loneliness. The one person he wanted to write to wouldn't want to hear from him and even if he did, Albus couldn't do it.

They were better off away from one another. He thought of something he'd once read: _a kiss may ruin a human life_. And even if he knew it had taken more than just a kiss to destroy who he'd once been, he felt he understood the sentiment well enough: just because something feels good, doesn't mean it is, and all that Albus had experienced with Scorpius stood testament to that.

A kiss.

Guilty, Albus let his eyes fall closed and imagined Scorpius' lips brush his; the way his hands had trembled when Albus held them; how his desperation, his neediness, had matched Albus' own as they'd fumbled around together in that dark stable one night, what felt like a thousand days ago. He thought of him now, too, alone at Hogwarts, and wondered how he was, what he'd been doing, who he'd been talking to. Was James watching out for him like Albus had asked? However humiliating it had been to be so vulnerable in front of his brother, that request was one thing Albus couldn't bring himself to regret.

Albus had no solution for whatever was wrong with Scorpius but he knew, like he knew the same of himself, that solitude would be the most destructive thing for him. He thought again of the unnamed girl from earlier and wondered if he'd just set fire to his last opportunity not to be completely friendless here.

* * *

The dining hall at Beauxbatons was smaller, less warm, than what Albus was used to at Hogwarts, and yet it was undeniably charming in its own way. Impressive ice sculptures that had stood for centuries towered all around them, and the familiar chorus of wood nymphs vibrated through the air. Students were not divided by what colours they wore, but were free to choose for themselves where they wanted to sit.

At first, Albus had quietly admired this difference, although it tended to make things awkward at mealtimes when he hadn't a clue where he fit in. He generally gravitated towards the space with the least amount of people and the most amount of misfits but tonight, he scanned the crowd for that wicked smirk and a crown of white-blonde hair. When he found her, Albus took a deep breath and approached with confidence, resolute to be someone he was not for the moment if it'd help him repair some of the damage he'd done earlier in the day.

The space across from her was empty and Albus quickly claimed it without pause, leaning his elbows on the table in what he hoped was a casual manner as the girl appraised him with a less-sure grin.

"This is a surprise. I didn't think I'd ever see you again, what with the way you ran away from me like a baby earlier."

Albus hoped the amber light concealed at least some of his blush. "You're so rude," he shot back without thinking, "has anyone ever told you that?"

She shrugged. "Only every day." A thick rope of her hair fell forward across her shoulder and Albus considered for the first time that perhaps part of his initial dislike for her was influenced by the shade of her hair. He kept his eyes fixed to hers; those were different, at least—the colour of freshly-mowed grass.

He bit his lip. "What's your name?"

"Celestine."

"Oh. That's—"

"Don't."

Albus blinked. "Pardon? Don't what?"

"Say something dumb, like _pretty name for a pretty girl_." Her deep imitation of a boy's voice was both accurate and amusing, but Albus didn't laugh.

With a frown, he replied, "Er, I wasn't going to? I'm not— I mean, I don't—"

"That's what I thought," Celestine interrupted. "No offence or anything."

"Excuse me?"

Celestine sighed and added, "You've never even noticed me. Or any girl."

Albus felt his blush deepen to magenta and stuttered, "Well that's because—"

"Don't burst a blood vessel. You don't need to explain. It's fine." She leaned forward on her elbows then and peered at Albus closer. "So where's all your friends then, loser?"

"Where's all of yours?" Albus bristled.

"I don't have any," Celestine admitted with a grin. "I'm weird."

"I noticed."

"But you are, too." Albus didn't argue with her. When he didn't say anything else, Celestine just shrugged and said with confidence, "I'll get your life story one day," before pushing a plate at him and proceeding to dish out food for the both of them. Albus let her and released a breath as he tried to smother a small smile. 


End file.
